


Sketch My Soul

by MiryelENG (Miryel)



Category: Spies In Disguise (2019)
Genre: Fluff, Lance Sterling - Freeform, M/M, Portrait, They are so cute, Walter Beckett - Freeform, Will Smith - Freeform, lalter - Freeform, lance x walter, post killian, spies in disguise - Freeform, sweet spies husband, they both are dorks, tom holland - Freeform, walter x lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:20:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28176786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miryel/pseuds/MiryelENG
Summary: "Are you doing my portrait?""Um ... no?" Walter replies, and he is too fast when he does. It is a sudden response, which hides behind it a truth that does not want to admit. Out of shame? Why does he feel stupid? Why do you do stupid things in love after all?"No?" Lance asks, almost indignant, and moves nervously on the mattress. "What do you mean: no?""No… it is a denial, if the answer had been affirmative I would have said yes, but it is not, so I deny. Do you miss the principles of grammar, besides the scientific ones, Sterling? ""Oh! Uho! What is this hostility! You are unable to lie and then you start with the accusations, you little mad scientist?", he teases him, then pulls the covers aside and starts to get up. Walter takes the album and holds it in his hands.
Relationships: Walter Beckett/Lance Sterling
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Sketch My Soul

**Sketch My Soul**

There is a slight warmth in those blankets; a remnant of warmth that accompanied him all night, in someone's slender arms. There is the sun that shyly slips through the shutters of that window and, almost spiteful, plants itself on his eyes and forces him to turn around. As the arm moves to the other side of the bed, Lance realizes that the bed is empty. He is therefore alone, in the immense space of a double mattress that he bought in the past where he was too aware that he would never fill it with anyone else. 

Then Walter arrived, and things changed. They have definitely changed. 

Except that the clumsy scientist is not there, next to him, to fill a void he is no longer used to and, almost as if it were a punishment, he forces himself to open his eyes to look for him. Confirms his theory, the only occupant of that bed is him, and for a second he feels part of his heart split in half. It has never happened that the other left without telling him anything; only once did he leave before he could wake up, but left him a note on the nightstand and a chocolate muffin that Lance didn't eat alone. He waited for his partner to return, to share him, sitting on the sofa watching an old Korean drama that Walter had already seen at least a couple of times. His favorite. 

This time, however, no; when he raises his head to check for any sign of him, she finds nothing: neither a note nor anything else. Then he sits up on the bed and, with a start, freezes. He squeezes the blankets between his fingers when they slip off his shoulders and leave him bare-chested. She rubs her eyes and smiles as she tilts his head and looks at him. 

Walter is sitting in an office chair, right at the foot of the bed, near the desk. He has one leg bent against his chest, where he has placed a sketchbook and, between the fingers of his left hand, he holds a very fine Indian ink brush, which a second later he dips in ink and, before returning to place the object on the paper, he raises his eyes and looks at it. Roll your eyes; in a second it turns red like a pepper. He also lifts the other leg against his chest, then hiding his face behind the album, emitting embarrassed moans that, without his being able to restrain himself, make Lance laugh. 

Walter is the purest person I've ever known: pacifist, very sweet, sentimental, damned emotional and, often, weighed down by that sense of inadequacy that not even he can erase from his face; not even with a kiss. And this is what drives him every day not to let him go, because maybe Walter has spent too much time alone, before fate decided to let them meet. Perhaps because Walter has so much to give, that Lance wants him to receive as much, if not more. Perhaps because if Walter needs him, Lance needs twice as much, because where he fails in feelings, the other teaches him not to be overwhelmed and always shows him his hand. Because Lance is good at fighting, rounding, crushing, but Walter knows how to understand and sometimes he does it for him too. 

"Good morning, ninja boy!" He greets him, and when Walter comes out of his hiding place made of paper, he looks at him with a questioning expression on his face. His blue eyes are wide open on his. “You managed to sneak away without my noticing. In short, it takes some, I'm still a spy, "he explains. 

“I'm not a danger to you. It is evident that you did not notice it because of that », the other tries to mock and Lance bursts out laughing.

«You _are_ a danger! Do I have to remind you that you turned me into a pigeon long ago? "

“Do I have to remind you that this saved your life? How ungrateful… »replies Walter, feigning indignation, then returning to look at his paper and study it, as if it were the plan for the conquest of an alien planet or the Pentagon map. 

"It saved yours," he corrects him, then raises his knees and rests his elbows on them, crossing his arms. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing, I was waiting for you to wake up," smiles Walter and doesn't take his eyes off that sheet; picks up the brush again and starts writing again. 

“Now I'm awake and _you_ 're not here. Are you angry?"

"Me? Angry? With you? Pfff, why should I? Did you do something I don't know? "

“I don't know, sometimes I make you angry without realizing it. Maybe it's one of those cases », he smiles again and Walter finally raises his eyes on hm; he crosses them and they are lost for a moment, between the silence of that room and the warmth of the only light on the desk. Very hot. That room seems almost wet from the sunset, like this. 

Lance wishes that morning would never end. 

“No, you didn't piss me off. I told you, I was waiting for you to wake up. " 

"And what are you doing?" he asks again, when he goes back to writing.

“Nothing, I'm not… I'm not doing anything. I scribble, I pass the time. In short, I'm not sitting idle like someone I know does. " 

"And you don't want to be idle with this person of your acquaintance?" We are… very far away, ”says Lance, and it costs him a fortune to make that half admission. He would never admit to anyone that he misses someone's presence, but with Walter it's different. Walter deserves it, his heart, and everything that comes from using it: even being sentimental, even opening up and saying what he thinks. It's not easy, but for him, Lance, it makes it easy. He has to do it. He wants to do it. 

"I finish one thing and i'll arrive," smiles Walter and, shortly after, the only noise that breaks the silence is that of the paper being consumed by the ink. A pleasant noise, almost a musical symphony. Firm and precise, so different from the hand holding that brush. But Walter is also this: total chaos and the most maniacal order in the things he loves, like science or a relationship. Lance knows that with him he never leaves anything to chance. 

"Are you doing my portrait?" 

"Um ... no?" Walter replies, and he is too fast when he does. It is a sudden response, which hides behind it a truth that does not want to admit. Out of shame? Why does he feel stupid? Why do you do stupid things in love after all? 

"No?" Lance asks, almost indignant, and moves nervously on the mattress. "What do you mean: _no_?" 

"No… it is a denial, if the answer had been affirmative I would have said yes, but it is not, so I deny. Do you miss the principles of grammar, besides the scientific ones, Sterling? " 

"Oh! Uho! What is this hostility! You are unable to lie and then you start with the accusations, you little mad scientist?", he teases him, then pulls the covers aside and starts to get up. Walter takes the album and holds it in his hands. 

"Stop where you are!" He admonishes him, and Lance does the opposite of everything. He puts his bare feet on the ground; the contact with the floor makes him shiver for a moment, then with long strides he shortens the distance between him and Walter, more and more bent on himself to hide that sheet and not let him see. He's blushed like a tomato, and he's as adorable as few things Lance has seen in his life. Walter is so much of that love that sometimes he thinks he doesn't deserve it at all. 

"Let me see, come on."

"No! It is not your portrait! Why do you want to for- " 

"It's not my portrait, so let me see!" at the HTUV they say that you are quite good at drawing and I have not yet had the opportunity to see anything, born from your hand ", she urges him, tempting him with that information that, according to Walter's face, was not aware of it . In fact, he looks at him with wide eyes and a total confusion. He should be proud of what they say at HTUV, but as always he can't enjoy any victory, not even the smallest one. Lance figured it out that day Joy Jankins reinstated him in the agency and gave him a promotion. He still acts as if he were a normal employee, when he is in control of the science department and _never_ actslike a boss. He advises, helps, supports but never gives orders. And this, paradoxically, makes everything damn balanced in its category. 

By bestowing the good, he gets everything and this, after all, has let everyone change their point of view: no violence fought with violence. Always defend yourself, yes, but never without hurting anyone.

The best defense is defense and not attack anymore and Lance is slowly learning this. 

"What is it they say at the HTUV?" Asks Walter, visibly interested. 

«That you are a little Michelangelo, now give it here!», Lance answers and steals the album from his hands with zero kindness. Walter tries to stop him, but without any success and, when there is no more hope, he closes himself in his knees still tight to his chest, sitting on that chair. 

Lance feels his eyes on him; frightened and embarrassed, perhaps even guilty and, when he sets his eyes on the paper, he is speechless. 

What they say at HTUV is true: Walter has a decidedly delicate, elegant hand and his stroke is decisive, unlike his mild and often insecure character. It almost seems that his soul is on that drawing and, as beautiful as it is, Lance begins to think that he doesn't deserve that boy belongs to him. 

The drawing obviously represents him, but there is something that Walter has added to his gaze, which perplexes him and destroys him inside. They are bright eyes, full of love, kindness, delicacy and perhaps not recognizable at all. He sees only a similarity in the features, but in the soul that the other has given to that sketch, there is too substantial a difference with his own. He looks back at him, and Walter looks as if he's about to sink into a black hole.

“I'm sorry,” he only murmurs, “I didn't mean to lie to you, but I was ashamed. You can tear it up and throw it away if you want. " 

"No," Lance replies, terse and, he warns himself, there is too much fear in his tone of voice. "It's nice. Very nice, just ... "

"Just ...?" Asks Walter, impatient and when their eyes meet he seems to see fear on him and then raises a hand to shake his. He smiles at him, hopefully, and those fingers clinging to his have the power to awaken him. 

"Do you really see me like that?"

"As well as?"

"So ... bright?" 

Walter rolls his eyes again, then squeezes his fingers tighter and tilts his head, smiling. It almost seems as if there is relief in his heart because his face has relaxed; he also freed his chest from the prison of his bent knees, sitting like a normal human being in that office chair. 

"How else am I supposed to see you? A drawing represents reality and, honestly, I'm also happy to have captured that light of yours and ... I'm happy that you noticed it. " 

_I do not deserve you. I don't deserve you, little clumsy mad scientist._

Lance does not know what to say, or rather he would like to tell him all those things he has thought but cannot. He doesn't succeed because Walter opens his heart wide and opens drawers of the soul that he insists on keeping closed, but not with him. Even if he wanted to, he would never succeed.

So he throws the album on the bed, leans over him and delicately removes from his hands that brush that he still holds between his fingers, as if it were a knife, a sword, a gun ready to hit him in the middle of the forehead and destroy him. But Walter does not know how to destroy, he knows how to fix and put together the pieces of a man destroyed by time and by the violence he has suffered and given over the years. Walter can see in him what Lance himself cannot see; feelings he didn't even know belonged to him. 

He gets lost in his blue eyes, brushes his brown hair away from his face and bends over to leave him a kiss on the tip of his nose; then she takes his chin between his fingers, directs his face towards him and kisses his lips. He dedicates a delicate caress to him that unites two mouths that look like crystals ready to split. Then he deepens that contact and, short of words, when they break away, he can only look at it. Hope he understood. He hopes that _thanks for seeing me like_ this he read it in his expression against his. He hopes that the smile he is giving him is the answer to all those questions that Lance is asking himself and that his hope of never losing it will never be shattered.

"Come to bed," he murmurs, and when Walter takes both his hands and gets up, accompanying him gently towards that mattress that is a world yet to be discovered, Lance knows that the answer to everything that grips him is that boy there. 'he printed in the vivid and sincere smile that gives them every time their souls meet. 

And then he allows himself to love him, because perhaps he is capable of doing it, as Walter deserves.

**THE END**


End file.
